


Prince, Prat, Pain In The Ass

by CaseyStar



Series: Merthur Party 2013 [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:40:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaseyStar/pseuds/CaseyStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's only been working for the Prince for a few days but that's already a few days too long</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prince, Prat, Pain In The Ass

**Author's Note:**

> For Day One Prompt of Merthur Party 2013 - The Prince And The Servant
> 
> Dedicated to my King - ilurvedoctorwho
> 
> Over on tumblr [ kcsplace](http://kcsplace.tumblr.com), so come say hello here if you want.

Hiding his magic, whilst attempting to use it to complete each unpleasant chore, was ridiculously difficult. In Ealdor Merlin hadn’t had to hide his magic the way he did here, never had the threat of death hanging over him and eighteen years of instinctual use was difficult to override.  
He’d almost gotten caught this evening, just as his magic flared and the fire burst bright in the hearth, the orange and yellow flames licking over the wood faster than if he’d done the job by hand, so of course that was when the Prince walked in.

“You still here?” Arthur traipsed mud over the newly cleaned floor, sprawling onto a chair and lifting his left leg, waggling his foot at Merlin when the other man didn’t immediately begin to remove his boot. “If you’re cluttering up the place you can at least make yourself useful.”

Arthur was an ass. And, as Merlin was learning, not just to Merlin; tales of the Prince throwing his weight around, treating servants like slaves and interested more in roughhousing with his knights than learning how to be a compassionate and learned ruler were rife within the castle. The kitchens particularly were awash with gossip and whispering.

Rolling his eyes, Merlin got back to his feet and made his way to the table, grasping the leather heel in one hand, the toes of the boot in the other and tugged, so tempted to mutter a handy spell but not quite suicidal enough. 

“Oh and you can clean that up before you go.” Arthur gestured to the mud he’d tracked in.

A complete ass.

He also seemed to have no concept in how many hours there were in a day and how much work he expected of Merlin now Uther had ordered them together. Cleaning armour until it gleamed took hours, Merlin’s hands aching from righting bent links in the hauberk, and hammering out imperfections in the plate armour. It was a job for the armourer more than a manservant but Arthur wouldn’t have it, it had to be Merlin. It also had to be Merlin that swept his rooms, changed and washed his linens and clothes, polished his boots, fed and mucked out his horses, exercised his dogs and fetched his meals. 

“Of course,” Merlin hissed through gritted teeth, wrenching free the second boot, dumping it beside it's twin and making his way to the door. If he was lucky, Arthur would think he was off for the bucket and mop and then fall asleep before he realised Merlin hadn't returned. Merlin could easily clean the floor with a muttered word in the morning before the Prince awoke.

“Where are you-don’t clean it now, help me get undressed.”

“The sky would fall if you did it yourself?” 

“What?”

“Nothing.” As an afterthought, Merlin added, “Sire.”

Every single day was like this. It was as if Arthur was punishing his new servant for his father’s decision. Which he undoubtedly was.

“Ah,” Merlin hissed as the buckle of Arthur’s belt impacted with his ear, shocking him out of his revere. “Careful!”

“Pay attention,” Arthur countered.

With every barked command and imperious order Merlin found himself almost, _almost_ , regretting calling Arthur out that day in the yard. He most certainly didn’t regret humiliating him in front of most of the lower town, even after he’d thrown the fight and been thrown back into the jail cell. Whenever Arthur threw yet another object at his head, or dumped yet more items to be cleaned into his arms, Merlin replayed in his head the moment where he tripped Arthur, the moment when Arthur knew he’d been beaten, by a mere servant, the surprise on his face.  
It got him through each day filled with slaving after the prat. 

Clad in his night attire, Arthur blew out the candles illuminating his bed chamber and clambered beneath the lush blankets, rolling immediately to face away from Merlin.

He was almost at the door when a strident voice called out, “And don’t forget to mop the floor before you go.”

There was no possible way the Great Dragon was right about Arthur. No way. Merlin was going to enjoy telling the creature _‘I told you so.’_


End file.
